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Susquehanna Stories 



Susquehanna Stories 

With Illustrations, Traditions and Prodigies 

By Lu B. Cake 

Author of Merry -go-roand 'Itfiih Critics, Trial of 

Jesns, De'^nVs Teatable, Hope for Judas 

Popular Songs. Etc, 



Every Susquehanner, all related to a Susgue- 

hanner, want this Memorial fot their own 

sakes. All others want ii because 

worth many times the price — only 

2^c. Send f*-iends this souvenir 



Address L, B, Cake, Room 72, 

90 West Broadway. Ne<w York City 
or 7he Enterprise Press, Afton, N. Y, 



Copyright igi2 by L. B. Cake 



flZ7 



£CI.A319691 



Some Susquehanlets 

Ny-ah-ta-tc/^/^-ta, the poetical name of that 
part of the * 'sequestered Susquehanna'* be- 
tween Binghamton and Coopersto-wn, is not 
misapplied. It is especially true of the val- 
ley including Afton and the islands below the 
mill dam, the Poneemah Isles, emeralds on the 
glinting chain of the silver river; the ancient 
camping lure of the Red Men and now of his 
supplanter, the Paleface. 

On the east of Afton are the Zah-gah-sar- 
£a/i-quah. (Sun breaking through clouds) hills, 
undulating against the blue sky, the phan- 
tom shore of the Unknowm Beyond. 

On the west the Ke-wajz-din (Home Wind) 
range, looking away toward the Indian Par- 
adise in the setting sun; ancient prophecy of 
the exile of the tribes, ever seeking new homes 
in the West as they -were driven out from 
their God-given heritage. 

North of the village glitters the pretty lake 
that has no outlet. It is fed by pure springs. 
The musical, legendary name, is Tum-ba-stel- 



la (The Grave of a Star) as given in the poem 
in this book. Nightly the stars look there, 
mirroring in the crystal waters, seeking the 
-lost one. 

Southward is the serpentine sweep of the 
Susquehanna, and away, overlooking the 
Poneemah Isles (Isles of the Hereafter, ) cares- 
sed by the Sho-won-^<:2-see, (The South-Wind) 
stands the faithful old sentinel hill, Ta-ren- 
ya-w^/^-go (Holder of the Heavens); for 
there the earth and sky seem to meet and 
it is an Indian fancy to call it so. The Child 
of Nature has more happy thoughts and less 
nickels than the Paleface. 

Before the day of mill dams the river ran 
swiftly and was muddy; for the first Indian 
name was Sis-kee-/^^7^-nee (Muddy Water). 
This was changed to Saos-que-/^^;2-nuk (long 
crooked river.) Now the glassy waters 
curve and fiow and bend again, as if linger- 
ing in haunts so beautiful. 

Just below Afton is Wa-wo-;2^2>-sa Island, 
the small one severed from the large one by 
the river dividing, deflecting, delaying its de- 
parture. Wa-wo-nais-sa (Whipporwill), so 



the baby island is named from the Indian leg- 
end given in this book. 

O-nok-sa. (Bass) Island is the name of the 
larger, for around it the bass abound. South- 
ward the waters flow, those to the right of 
Wa-wo-nais-sa, among the trees, being Min- 
ne-w^/^-wa (the sound of the wind among 
the trees;) the waters to the left are Mud-we- 
a^ku-ka. (the sound of the waves on the 
shore), for in the time of the great whirlpool 
above Wa-wo-nais-sa, the waters made per- 
ennial music there. On by Onoksa Island is 
the flow, to be cooled in summer by the Cold 
Spring on the Buck farm, on the east bank. 
This wonderful spring was formed as told in 
the legend of the giant in this book hence is 
called Mis/i-e Weji-di-go (the great giant) 
Spring. Here you drink ice water from a 
natural reservoir. 

On the west bank is Se-bow-2>/^-a (the rivu- 
let) where the bullhead tishing-fest is held 
every spring. 

Southward still runs the river to where 
Gold Bible Brook finds the Susquehanna. 
There Joe Smith pretended to hunt for the 



Gold Bible his ignorance and illiteracy pre- 
vented faking till he mysteriously connected 
with the Spaulding manuscript and made the 
Morman Bible, as history shows. The brook 
was famous for its suckers, but the biggest 
and gudgeonest were the Mormons who bit 
on Joe's sucker bait. 

Then the incantation of Sah-sah^/V-wun (the 
rapids) that rush by Waw-beek (the rock) 
Promontory just above the mill dam. Here 
the waters catch a glimpse of thePo-nee-mah 
Isles, and hurry down to wander among 
them, voicing their joy, rippling with laugh- 
ter, till they dimple and smile in labyrinthine 
flow. There they linger, wind and sleep and 
flow, and tarry long. 

On the breast of the hill above the Ponee- 
mah Isles, not far above the Chamberlin 
homes and east of the highway, is a great 
rock that marks a point of wonderful land- 
scape view. This rock is Sho-wain ne-?«^-sin 
(Oh, Pity Me!) These were the words of the 
Indian lamentation when driven from the 
valley. Here they paused, looking for the 
last time on the beautiful picture placed by 



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Gitchie Manitou in the happy home so long 
their own; **the isles of the hereafter'* where 
they hoped to rest in death; the happy hunt- 
ing grounds of the soul, Poneemah Isles! 

Afton has a lovers trysting place in Nee-ne- 
^£7^-sha ( Sweetheart) Glen. It is on the road 
to the village God's Acre. In the Glen E-we- 
yea (Lullaby) Falls, with liquid music en- 
trances the maid to listen and the lover to 
propose. Do-di-^y^-to (the trout stream) rans 
thence eastward to the Susquehanna. 

Immediately w^est of the village towers the 
lofty summit of the Ke-way-din hills over 
the Nyahtawanta (the Smile of the Great 
Spirit); for this is the name of that part ot 
the valley I have been describing. This over- 
look of the Kewaydin is Wa-ha-?i^-win (The 
Cry of Sorrow). Here the Indian exiles, driv- 
en from their ancient possessions, turned to 
take fare well, leave of the lovely Nyahtawan- 
ta; to behold for the last time "the smile of 
the Great Spirit;" to take the tearful, linger- 
ing love-look of their lost home. Wahano- 
win rose in a cry of sorrow from their quiv- 
ering lips, voicing the grief no words can telL 



With this wail of the breaking heart they left 
their homes and happy hunting gronnds, 
never to see them more. Standing thereto- 
day the Paleface remembers and pities the 
wandering exiles, may hear in the wail of the 
wind or hear in the sigh of therephyr, the 
dying cadence of the heart-rung— "Wa-ha-no- 
win!" 

The Nyahtawanta Valley is the scene of 
the marvellous adventures of Wa-^^-no Jee- 
bi, the mighty hunter. I have written these 
miraculous exploits, giving to literary crea- 
tion *'a local habitation and a name," that 
this may rival other localities in thrilling ad- 
ventures and legendary interest. The whirl- 
pool that once raged above Wawonaissa 
Island, where the eddy loiters now, is immor- 
talized in a blood-curdling contest between 
Indian rivals; it has no counterpart in liter- 
ature. 

The Giant Story that gives the origin of 
the Cold Spring on the east bank of the river 
that shores the Buck farm, is a thrilling bat- 
tle to the death between the primitive inhab- 
itants, giant and Puk-w;;^^-ies. When Sus- 



* 



quehaxiners learn these prehistoric wonders 
of their old home they will have even greater 
interest and pride in their cradle land where 
memory hears the lullabies of long ago. 

From the battle between the giant and the 
Pukwudjies comes the Giant*s Grave; his 
head rests on the land of Ty Makley, and his 
feet on the Graham lot back of the Barton 
house. And the place where the Puk-wudj- 
ies lived, on the LeSuer-Bresee lands — these 
are all explained: "But the half has never 
been told.'* 

Afton has points of more than legendary 
interest! On the Fair Grounds is the house 
where Joe Smith, the Mormon Pretender, 
married Emma Hale, his first wife. By Gold 
Bible Brook on the Buck farm is a cave where 
Joe dug for his Gold Bible. On the hills are 
holes where he and his dupes hunted for hid- 
den treasures. Down the river is Mormon 
Ducking Stool; where Joe pretended to walk 
on the water and was ducked. On the hill 
is where Nate Applington wallowed the pre- 
tender to prove him a fraud; for Joe said no 
one dare lay hands on his sacred person. 



Between Afton and Nineveh is Mormon Mak- 
er where early converts were baptized. In 
Afton the Pretender was tried for * 'false pre- 
tense" in pretending to cast out devils. Joe's 
Mormon witnesses swore that they saw the 
devil cast out run away, *'about the size 
of ayaller dog." (See Afton history taken 
from J. P. Court Record.) A genuine sample 
of their theology, right from the original 
records. 

Afton Altitude is high enough, or will be 
jack-screwed up to suit by our Ananias Club. 

Good drainage, shad}^ streets, good side- 
walks, neat homes owned by kind-hearted 
people. It is emphatically healthy, having 
living springs; also a m.odern system of water 
works, bringing a never varying abundance 
of pure, sweet water from a mammoth spring 
five miles away. The water flows from the 
bosom of the hill to your goblet without 
chance for contamination. 

Afton has good churches, good pastors, 
good hotels, good liveries, good stores in 
daily touch with markets, good doctors and 
good drug stores; fruit and dairy farms near 



the village insure fresh delicacies and health- 
ful food. ^ Here are good boarding places in 
nice homes, in village or on farms. Here are 
good roads for carriage, automobile or bicy- 
cle; a splendid half-mile track across the river 
to speed your horses; baseball, tennis and 
croquet. Here are good fishing and bathing; 
scenery for amateur photography and sketch- 
ing. A *'bike'* spurt takes you to a sulphur 
spring above or below the village, equal to 
the celebrated Clifton springs, half the price. 

There are no local ** Terrors,'* no street 
brawls, no Monte Carlos, no *'dives,'* no 
**skin games,'* no snakes— nothing to disturb 
or make you afraid. 

The Delaware & Hudson Railroad station 
is right in town, one block from hotels; three 
minutes to good boarding houses; a few min- 
utes walk to Nenemoosha Glen, or to the 
grave of Mishe Wendigo, the great giant. 

Here you have all the health and comfort 
of the country, yet remain close railroad, tel- 
egraph and telephone touch with the cities, 
a bank, and post ofiice with six mails a day. 

There is no place where you can get so 



much for so little money. The people are 
not built on the lemon squeezer plan; all rates 
are low and reasonable, so are the folks. 

*'Come with us and we will do you good; 
for the Lord hath spoken good concerning 
Israel* *— and that this is of his Israel is proven 
bj Nyahtawanta, "The Smile of the Great 
Spirit." 



Pukwudjie is the Indian name for the little 
mound-tain showing its baby bald head to the 
left of the highway as you cross the corpora- 
tion line, entering Afton from the south. It 
is on the domain of L. S. LeSuer, and that of 
Chester Bresee. It commands a beautiful view 
of the Nyahtawanta Valley. As Gitche Mani- 
tou made the Zag-gah-sar-gah-quah hills east of 
Afton for the greater gods, so he made Pukwud- 
jie for the Pukwudjies; "The little men or 
fairies." Long ago, when the trees waved on 
Pukwudjie as grandly as stately feathers on the 
head of a war chief, it was the throne of the 
fairies. There the Indian mothers brought the 
papoose for the fairies to charm and woo to 
slumber. There the children loved to play, 
guarded by the invisible Pukwudjies. In the 
silver moonlight when the whippoorwill sounded 
his plaintive notes on Wawonaissa Island to the 
fairy throne, the Indian maiden would go to 
invoke the aid of the Pukwudjies in secrets of 



love. The Indian brave also came there in 
affairs of the heart. To be successful the 
maiden must approach from the east, the brave 
from the west. The consequences was that the 
lovers sometimes met by chance (?) on the 
crown of Pukwudjie, and then and there the 
doubts were removed, the secrets revealed, the 
mission of love fulfilled; but the Pukwudjies 
received all the praise, ruled undisputed over 
leal hearts with trusting faith in the good 
fairies. 

The Palefaces have laid low the regal glory 
of Pukwudjie, as they have the waving plumes 
of the war chiefs ; but when the hills are green 
and the grass covers this monument of the 
Pukwudjies, the flitting of the fairies sometimv'S 
return and are seen flashing on the emerald 
dome of their once happy home. 

To be sure, c^'nics say these are only the 
fireflies; but who is compelled to let the miser- 
able cynic destroy his pleasing fancies? The 
business of the cynic is to rob the hallowed 
graves of tradition, and wreck our " castles in 
the air." It is our business to ignore him. 

If lovers had the same simple trusting faith 



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now and should meet bv chance on Pukwudjie 
no doubt the fairies would do for them all that 
they did for the heart-laden lovers of long ago. 

Anyway, Pukwudjie was an ancient shrine of 
the Fairies, Fays, Will 0' Wisps, Elfs, Sprites 
and Sybils of prehistoric times. If " history 
repeats itself " as the wiseacres say, why not 
again, and now, the mystics and oracles of 
Pukwudjie? 

It may be that the Pukwudjies resent the 
sacrilege of unhallowed hands slashing into the 
side of their shrine, and refuse to appear for a 
season. But in the winter it is a white temple 
dome where mysterious ceremonials go on un- 
heard, unseen. In summer it is emerald green, 
like the Sun Bow in a vision ; and when the night 
is propitious, the Pukwudjies flash in the dark- 
ness to tell us they are there, and the fault is 
not theirs, but more ours when the good spirits 
are unwilling to commune with us. Let Puk- 
■Roidjie be a monument to that eternal truth and 
remind us as often as we see or think of the 
fairy shrine, and the mission of the Pukwudjies 
will go on forever. 



^he Giant and the Pukwudjies 

Long ago, so long ago the date is lost in ob- 
livion, the Great Giant came into the Xyahta- 
wanta valley to exterminate the Pukwudjies. 
In his far off home the Giant had learned of the 
wonderful things done by the Pukwudjies, and 
having overcome all his rivals by killing and 
subjugating them, the monster determined to 
annihilate the little gods that were world re- 
nowned for powers rivalling his own. Indeed,, 
the Pukwudjies were in a fair way to eclipse 
this envious colossus of the earth. 

The Pukwudjies heard the Great Giant was 
coming, so they called a council of all the mid- 
gets to meet on ]Mt. Pukwudjie, and map out 
a plan of campaign. The meeting was at 
night, and the Pukwudjies convened just like 
congress, except that there were no partisan 
contests, and no disreputable lobby. For lights 
they hung Jack O' Lanterns in the trees, and 
a foxfire, or a firefly light by each desk. The 
Pukwudjies were wide-a-wake, seated on chest- 



nut burrs. The chestnut burr seat was a wise 
arrangement of the Pukwudjies to prevent long 
sittings, or terms ; a happ}' thought I commend 
to our own Congress. How well it worked is 
sho^^ii by the fact that the midget congress 
never had a contestant with three wives trying 
to sit in one seat ; and the}' planned a campaign, 
prepared for war, and adjourned sine die before 
morning. Oh, that our congressmen were 
seated like the Pukwudjies! No Lowermore 
bribed his way to be a squatpat on a chestnut 
burr nor fooled three sessions of Chestnut Bur- 
rows into holding pals down. 

The little fellovrs went to the vrest shore of 
the Susquehanna, just below the south end of 
Onoksa Island, to meet their all-conquering 
enemy. The Great Giant, Mishe Wendigo, 
came striding over the Zah-gah-sar-ga-qua hills, 
the ground trembling under his feet as he 
walked, and his voice roaring like thunder. 
The Pukwudjies saw his massive head and 
flaming eyes, for he towered alcove the tallest 
hill pines. His hair appeared like a huge black 
cloud from which flashed the lightning of his 
terrible eyes. In one hand he brandished a gi- 



gantic spear made of a tree unkno'W'n in this 
part of the world. 

The Pukwudjies gazed at his monster pro- 
portions with curiosity and amazement; but 
the brave little fellows never thought of retreat- 
ing. The Giant did not see the pigmies along 
the west shore of the river, for he had been told 
that they had a mountain home ; so he was look- 
ing for them on the Kewaydin hills, west of 
Afton. Finally he reached the level ground on 
the east bank of the river, and stood on the 
spot where the Cold Spring is now. Looking 
down to behold the beauty of the Susquehanna, 
his glance fell upon the Pukwudjies, in martial 
array, on the opposite bank of the river. His 
astonishment was unbounded. In the giant 
land he had never seen, nor had he a conception 
of creatures so small as the Puk\vTidjies. 

" What are ye ? " he roared. 

"The Pukwudjies!" piped the midgets. 

"What! The boasted rivals I have jour- 
neyed long to overcome? Why, you contemp- 
tible atoms, I'll blow my breath and sweep 3'ou 
into the ocean ! I'll spat on you and drown 
you ! I'll take my beard and sweep you off 



the earth ! I'll take one of my eye winkers and 
spank you under your trundle beds ! Out of 
my sight, or I'll let my shadow fall on your 
measly arm of goose pimples and smash you 
into the earth ! " 

In his paroxysm of rage and disappointment, 
the great monster lifted his massive spear and 
drove it into the ground so deep that only the 
top of the shaft M^as visible. The ice waters 
known as the " Cold Spring " came forth. (The 
ancient, right name of this spring is Mishe 
Wendigo, meaning the Great Giant). Lifting 
his immense foot, Mishe Wendigo stepped 
across the river, intending to crush the Puk- 
wudjics as his foot came down; but when his 
foot came down the Pukwoidjies were not there. 
Quick as a flash the agile midgets alighted on 
the Giant's big legs, and drove their tiny spears 
into him; spears of the stinging nettle. Mishe 
Wendigo laughed in derision at their insignifi- 
cant weapons, but when hundreds of little stings 
began to smart and burn, he roared in anger 
and slapped his hands on himself to mash the 
Pukwudjies — but the Wudjies were never there. 
The midget warriors continued to spear him all 



over, and the Giant beat himself black and blue 
trying to kill them. 

The monster stooped and pulled up two 
great pines by the roots, and, holding one in 
each hand, he wielded them as easily as we wave 
fly brushes. This brilliant display of military 
tactics caused the Pukwudjies to retreat, but 
the little fellows w^ere not disconcerted by this 
move of the enemy. They had planned their 
campaign, and they w^ere prepared in emergen- 
cies. The midget army suddenly vanished. 
While Old Monstrosity was triumphing over 
his easy victory, they as suddenly returned all 
armed with bees, hornets, wasps, and every 
winged insect whose sting would irritate and 
annoy. The Wudjies turned these loose in 
swarms that flew upon the Giant, buzzing and 
stinging, while he only incited them to attack 
by fanning at them with his mammoth fly 
brushes. 

When night came, and all the stingers that 
fly by day retired, Mishe Wendigo the colossus 
was so overcome by rage and roaring, and 
vainly beating himself and the air, that he 
stretched out on the ground to rest. But the 



Pukwudjies were too fertile in resources to 
sleep on their arms. The wily wee warriors 
brought swarms of mosquitos, and all things 
that buzz and sting, and myriads of bugs and 
bats and everything that crawls and bites in 
the night, and turned them loose on their pros- 
trate foe. There was no rest for him. He 
threshed and roared and rolled all night. 
When morning came, braggart Mishe Wendigo 
was too exhausted, swollen and stiff to rise. 
Then the Pukwudjies brought the juice of a 
poisonous plant they had brewed, and they 
sprinkled it all over the Giant's bites, and 
stings, and bruises. The monster began to 
bellow and swell, and to swell and bellow, till 
he couldn't see ; he swelled and bellowed till he 
coudn't move : he swelled and he swelled, and he 
swelled, till his bloated body burst like a boiler 
and he died in awful agony. 

The Pukwudjies celebrated thei rglorious vic- 
tory with a grand barbacue and torchlight pro- 
cession. Mitey Teddy was officer of the day. 
INIidget Chump, Czar of rules and committees. 
Monad Will 0' Wisp, Toast Master. Chances 
Be-Few, Orator of The Day. Pigmy Choate, 




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ST. ANN'S EPISCOPAL CHURCH 



Precenter to the Queen. Lily Pushan Cat, 
Chanter of Woman's Rights. Wee Bit Wil- 
son, President. 

The Pukwudjies celebrated their glorious vic- 
for miles around for the illumination, and 
marched with foxfire torches. As reported ex- 
clusively in The Want Ad, the jollification was 
a coruscating, reverberating success. 

The Pukwudjies covered Mishe Wendigo 
where he lay, making a mound of earth the 
shape of the gigantic body. Although cen- 
turies have rolled away, the outlines of the 
Giant's form may now be traced in the village 
of Afton, in the Nyahtawanta valley. He lies 
northeast of Mt. Pukwudjie, his head to the 
south and resting on the land now owTied by 
Mr. Makely. Then the huge breast swells out, 
and the mommoth body is easily defined till the 
feet rest on the Graham lot, back of the Barton 
house. 

There I discovered the tomb of the Great 
Giant, Mishe Wendigo, and reveal it to the 
world. There the Goliath slain by the Puk- 
wudjies is sleeping the centuries away. 

From this we learn that the little things that 



irritate, fret, and annoy, may overcome the 
giants of Might, and Mind, although these 
giants may be able to overcome all else in the 
world. 



The Summer Boarder 

Hotel de Summer's open, 

The mountain's air, so free, 
Is now upon the market, 

So much a breathe and see ; 
The Alpine Stock is boosting 

The invalid up hill. 
This shows the length of time he stays, 

And this that of his bill. 



(Unless he comes to Afton.) 

The summer boarder swingeth 

In hammocks 'neath the trees. 
And shocketh the muskeeto 

With his catarrhal sneeze; 
And here's the sum of language 

In which he tells his bliss; 
! ? 
But when the season's over 

It all is told in this : 



(Unless he comes to Afton.) 



The Greatest Game Ever 

Deposit came from Deleware, 

A handsome showy clan, 
To massacre the pretty Kids 

Upon the Susquehan; 
Their bats were trick-trained mule hind legs, 

They pitched hot thunder crash. 
Their catch was like a Leap Year Snap, 

Speed limit went kersmash. 

The Afton Kids, the pretty Kids, 

Crooned little Baby Shay, 
Played Frank, who is a Carpenter, 

Two Carrs, the Deuce and Tray, 
And Joe the catchy Chambermaid, 

Carruth, the batt'ry horse, 
A Partridge, Robinson — the foe 

Met these with Great (re) Morse. 

Upon the fair grounds, Afton Fair, 

The " fair " all chewing gum, 
Deposit swatted, howled hot air, 



And made the spheroid hum. 
They banged the back-stop, broke the fence, 

Put up a rattling game 

The pretty Kids prevented them 

From scoring, just the same. 

Deposit boys are thoroughbreds, 

And played like old profesh ; 
The pretty Kids were born that way, 

They're baseball in the flesh. 
Oh, my ! they all did pound the ball, 

They slid upon their nose, 
They snatched the sphere from atmosphere, 

And hoed it down with hose. 

Deposit slugged the Chambermiad, 

And took away his breath. 
When Deleware got near a score, 

It tickled them to death; 
But when the pretty Kiddies scored, 

Home wind just blew in gales 
Loud roared each man of Susquehan, 

The horses waved their tails ! ! 



Deposit Nine, oh, handsome Nine, 



Each one a royal boy ! 
Oh, Afton Kids, our pretty Kids, 

You are our pride and joy! 
They all put up as good a game, 

As any crack nine gives. 
And then they played like gentlemen, 

So George the umpire lives. 



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cAfton l^an-her-he 

^ This animated spectacle is an Af- 

^dl ton Summer Boarder telling how he 

JK ^ S^^ ^^'^^ beautiful tan the picture 
Wj^ shows. The chemicals in the water 
V^ of the spring-fed Susquehanna evap- 

orate as the Sun fondles them, and 
old Sol uses the chemicals in a combination as 
mysterious as the effect is wonderful. The re- 
sult is the loveliest tan of any resort in the 
United States. No other tannery compares 
with Afton. It shows in the children who are 
tanned at home and at school. So captivating 
is this tan no resort makes a tithe the love- 
matches and marriages made in this tannery. 
A girl comes here with the lifeless complexion 
of the city, the kind the undertaker admires, 
and in a few days she has a luring tan and a 
retinue of suitors. She is deluged with invita- 
tions and proposals, would be drowned in ice 
cream and summer beverages, if she were not 
floated by peanuts and bon bons. The climax 



of this tan is a diamond engagement hue that 
makes the guest happy for life. 

Indeed, this tan will mask the freckles of a 
bran patch, or the oriflamme nose of catarrh, 
or Ten Nights in a Barroom. One enterpris- 
ing affliction won a fortune here marrying an 
heiress who was so delighted with her tan she 
took on the annex to have a tannery of her 
own. Try it. 

This genial guest was snapshot 
just as he jubilantly perorated his 
Susquehanna fishing picnic, among 
the Poneemah Isles, by gesturing the 
length of a bass he caught. His 
forefingers measure it with an ac- 
curacy satisfactory to any fisherman, and no 
other is an expert. 

Wall Street Brokers are perfectly at home 
with our suckers, and some of their strings with 
a fishline in the Susquehanna, rival those they 
get on Wall Street with a tapeline. When they 
troll and catch a Wall-eyed pike, they do all 
sorts of stunts of ecstasy. Bullhead the market, 
do the Bear dance, skin the gudgeons, and are 
carried home on stretchers. Then they use the 




stretchers in telling the fish story. 

All preachers catch eels here as large as the 
one in Theology; and betewen Adam and the 
Afton dam, with the theological dam, find in- 
spiration enough for all the year that puts a 
jackscrew under the salary. 

Blossom nosed tourists must not mistake Af- 
ton Bass ail for the ale advertised by Brewer 
Bass ; Afton's is an ail which rages as an epi- 
demic after June 16th. 

Ladies make great catches here, as guests 
coming in pairs the next season conclusively 
proves. Try our self-adjusting Baitjugs and 
get the habit. 






This moving picture shows an Afton sum- 
mer guest trying to describe the scenery and 
delights . He may come here as near death as 
the constant call of a doctor brings one with 
one foot in the grave and five feet ten shadowed 
bv the undertaker; but a few sniffs of Afton 



ozone and sundry jaunts, with the Bait Jug, 
resurrects him as suddenly as a stump puller. 
He'll begin seated at the table where he has 
vanished an extra meal his appetite demanded, 
gets enthused, rises as enthusiastically as a 
modern Presidential Campaign Candidate, and 
claws for it with both hands. 

He winds up his unwind with one hand fist- 
ing his assertion, the other hand in his pocket 
offering to bet ten to one that no Summer Re- 
sort on this mundane sphere has half as much 
to give, or gives half as much for the monej', as 
Afton. He never finds a taker, till he invites 
guests to put up their money and he'll pa}^ for 
the E-lie- hue Root Beer himself. 



When Leaves Come Down in Afton 

When leaves come down in Afton, 

The ozone frosty cold, 
You see us all a waltzin' 

Upon the streets of gold; 
We walk on gems and jewels, 

Lo ! all the homes in town 
Are diamond windowed mansions, 

When autumn leaves come down. 

" Jerusalem the Golden," 

li: seems to be right here, 
The king's highway and palace 

So glorious appear; 
The princesses and princes 

Each has a throne and crown, 
A settin' in the doorjard. 

When autumn leaves come down. 

LATEE 

When leaves come down in Afton, 
We're out with rake and broom. 



And also beating carpets, 
Kerslap ! kerwhop ! kerhoom ! 

Oh! Mam she pins her dresses up, 
And Pap half masts his sleeves. 

Then he kerwhollops dust out 
And she kerwiches leaves. 

He bangs holes in her carpet, 

And she rakes up his coat. 
And soon she's suffragetting 

He butting like a goat. 
Kerwhoom, 'tis not the carpet, 

Kerwhack ! She's broke his crown- 
The doctors get the rake off 

When Afton leaves come down. 



I 



Afton'a Fishing Joys 

All fishing time in Aft on town, 

Each kid and woman, man. 
Is digging bait, or squatting down 

Upon the Susquehan, 
For miles they fill the river shores, 

And reveal in delights, 
They tangle lines where cuspidors 

Are thick as bullhead bites. 

They lose their hooks and temper, too, 

When all is dark despair. 
One lands a catch, all hallaloo 

And rush to fish right there. 
The longest thing upon the reel. 

The biggest, now and aye, 
The yarn of biggest pike or eel 

That ever got away. 

A nibble sends a thrill of joy, 

A bite brings ecstasies, 
A pull is bliss without alloy. 



Jerk causes heart disease. 
A punkinseed catch rends the skies, 

Bass adds an inch to height — 
Oh, Afton is a Paradise 

When bass and bullheads bite ! 

That theologic Jonah tale. 

Is easy to believe, 
When told along with Afton's whale; 

Eel same for snake and Eve. 
So when they all are over there. 

In heaven's own delight, 
They'll sigh and tell of blisses where 

The bullheads used to bite. 



Good Old Summer Timelets 

In this Summer Paradise for Tourists every- 
thing is done to please guests. Rooms are re- 
papered for each to suit new occupants, parti- 
tions changed to suit, houses or hotels moved to 
gratify whims, sunrise and sunset scheduled to 
agree with the habits of peripatetics. The 
almanac is made specially for this burg with 
rainless moonlight nights, or dark of the moon 
and eclipses, just as the guests prefer " Straw- 
rides," or to indulge their autosparker. The 
scenery is shifted at the wish of transients as 
rapidly as a Moving Picture Show, and posi- 
tively never an explosion of a film or landlady 
endangering summer boarders. 

There is freedom in theology with one trifl- 
ing exception, i. e., the line is drawn on bench 
leg bull pups, and door mat spaniels, and pil- 
lowsham poodles, as idols to be worshiped of- 
fensively and idiotically. 

Spectacular sunsets hippodrome as follows 
without postponement on account of the 



weather, or the groAvl of the iconoclast: the 
pillow flounce clouds flutter in the east, and Old 
Sol turns off the cover of darkness with a 
vacation yawn. Then the white night cap 
frills shake, he rises on his elbow, yawns some 
more, wishes he could sleep till noon, and 
groans to think he must start the fires in all 
the cook stoves around the world. He throws 
the white sheets across the footboard. He 
rolls over and begins to shed his linen pajamas, 
while the trees whisper the scandal and the 
birds titter about it. He puts on his under- 
clothes, then the air is lurid while he hunts for 
his collar button. Suddenly a golden gleam 
arouses the night clerk, for Old Sol must pay 
in advance as a guest without baggage. He 
tips the moon faced porter who goes out to 
get full, limps up the mountain till his corns 
quit hurting, rushes to the lowest peak, glances 
over, and blushes to see the hired girl waiting 
to flirt with him. Then he strides along " the 
heaven kissing hills," the piazza of his boarding 
house, while the barnyard band plays " Hail 
to the Chief," and the clerk with the diamond 
breast-plate gives Hail Columbia to the Chef. 



A sunset reverses the form of the foregoing 
recipe, and many more people take it. 

The moon is more popular than the sun of 
Afton. The ^lan in the Moon hypnotizes peo- 
ple, and he is responsible for some strange 
tableaus. A male, and a female boarder of the 
starchiest duck suits and staunchest character, 
will be gazing romantically at the moon, and 
first thing you know their noses will bump in a 
shadow, then you will hear her shoes squeak, as 
she tiptucs to his mustache. This is the hyp- 
notic state, making the eighth state that you 
can see from the summit of the Kewaydin hills 
around Afton's good old summer time. 

This reminds me that in reconnoitering the 
hotel piazzas last night, I saw many New Idea 
chairs. These chairs occupy the darkest, most 
secluded spots, have arms upholstered with 
coatsleeves ; the back looks like a clothing store 
dummy. A tidy of blonde curls anchored with 
hairpins hangs over the manikin back. At 
times these chair cackle like a hennery, then 
erstwhile they are a whispery as the boarding 
house teakettle, then again as silent as the wit- 
ness chair of a Trust Magnate, till a sound like 



a stuttering coachman lipping at his horses 
rips the gloom of the veranda. 

A Guide Book gave the elevation of Afton as 
not more than 1,200 feet. Evidently it is not 
featuring Afton, or there is a mistake of the 
printer ; for I took the average on the hotel 
piazza railing, and there were over 1,200 feet 
elevation, and several feet of bunion size unac- 
countable. 

The air is so invigorating that when you fill 
3^our bicycle, or auto tires with it, you break 
the ordinance against " scorching " so hard the 
fire bell dongs. Fill your tires with their air, 
and you never feel the fatigue of telling fish 
stories and summer gossip. 

Next to a five dollar bill a buckboard is a 
favorite vehicle to transport you to resorts in 
this propinquity. To build a buck board, take 
a plank of a political platform, because it will 
always work to suit, and will bend more without 
breaking than any other plank. Nail each end 
of the axle tree of an old sulky plow, put a 
horseblanket upholstered seat and two milk 
cans in the middle, and you have an orthodox 
buckboard. 



They put the sour cream in tlie milk cans, 
then ye farmer's wife drives around the neigh- 
borhood to borrow a drawin' of tea and can- 
vass for Sparkins' Prize Soap, and when she 
gets home the butter has come, and so has nine 
p. m. 

Alpine Stock is the only kind quoted by the 
Bulls and Bears of resorts, and all are " long " 
on it. A golf stick, or an automol)ile stuck, is 
the only Alpine Stock rival. Xo other stock 
allowed to run at large. 

This invigorating air makes folks overdo 
everything. It enlivens the vocabular}^ and 
they use slang. It exhilarates the imagination 
tin people prevaricate in making a common- 
place statement like popping the question of a 
summer engagement. Hence every landlord 
says he has the best hotel, greatest altitude, 
grandest mountain view. In the springing a 
pleasant surprise on a lady friend he met in the 
shadows last night, a man hugged her before 
he knew it — was his wife. The air made him 
overdo the thing. A bachelor friend got off 
the last New York train, took a few inbibes of 
Afton invigorator, then went to a landlady, 



who is a widow, to engage a room; he overdid 
the business and engaged the widow. The fact 
that some are used to it, is all that prevents 
this overdoing becoming a contagious epidemic. 
One of the city politicians wandered off yes- 
terday in a romantic mood to sniff the new 
mown ha}', and listen to the buzz of the bee in 
the crown of his ambition. He found a bumble 
bee's nest, and, out of the force of political 
habit, he tried to graft the honey. He did not 
have a chance to bribe the committee on investi- 
gation into Congressional Snailery, so he was 
punished on the spot — on a great many spots. 
It was a lively session and he looked like an 
aviary of bees, when he was on the ground, 
more like an aviator when he was in the air. 
But he had the swell time every Afton visitor is 
sure of no matter what occurs. His descrip- 
tion of how bees hum in the clover smashes all 
poetical tradition, and his sprinting time as a 
fugitive from justice broke the running record. 
It proves that Afton resort is original in enter- 
tainment, something alwa^^s doing to make it 
lively for summer guests. 



Winning a Bride in a Whirlpool 

Before the palefaces came and cut down the 
primeval forest, the rainfall was greater, the 
tributary streams were larger than they are 
now. The volume of water in the Susquehanna 
above Wawonaissa Island, formed a whirlpool 
none escaped who were caught in its waltz of 
death. 

Nyahtawanta, the daughter of the great 
chief, was a wood nj^mph so beautiful the 
braves all sought her for a bride. True to her 
sex, the Indian belle played the coquette till 
she did not know her own heart. In vain 
she stole away in the moonlight and invoked 
the aid of the Pukwudjies. In vain the wooing 
of the braves who met her on Pukwudjie's 
sacred crown, though hopefully they went there 
for charms to win her. 

One rainy June the flood ran high, the whirl- 
pool swung its giant arms, pulling under great 
trees, frothing, laughing a frenzied laugh, riot- 
ing in destruction and terrors. Nyahtawanta 



Avatched till the red blood dyed her dusky cheek, 
and a purpose worthy the daughter of a war 
chief possessed her. 

She revealed her secret wish to her chieftain 
father : that he should command the chosen 
braves who sought her for a bride, to meet at 
the great whirlpool in their canoes. The 
brave that paddled his canoe over the flood into 
the grasp of the whirlpool, nearest the vortex 
of death, should return and claim X3'ahta- 
wanta, " The smile of the Great Spirit." for his 
princess bride. The edict went forth, the day 
was set, the swift runners of all the tribes car- 
ried the proclamation near and far. 

AYith the appointed day came crowds of thq 
various tribes to witness a contest surpassing 
an}^ the world has known, where courageous 
love faced death to win a bride. For the In- 
dians, who value bravery above all else, there 
was fascination in the overawing danger to be 
defied. The shores were thronged with bright 
blankets, nodding plumes, beaded costumes, and 
festal ornaments flashing in the sun, making a 
picturesque scene never to be forgotten. The 
canoes lined the water's edge, and among them 



was one of curious workmanship, made of ma- 
terial that came from far. Matchless for 
lightness, fleetness, and strength, it rode the 
water like a swan, was wafted by the lightest 
touch. It was a love tribute, from a wooer of 
a distant tribe, to Xyahtawanta. In it she sat 
enthroned, arrayed in princess costume, her 
wild, radiant beauty entrancing the beholder, 
winning the adoration of all. The attendants 
held her canoe where it would command a full 
view of the whirlpool. In the foreground, 
wrapped in his royal robe, stood the chieftain 
father, ready to give the signal to begin the 
trying ordeal. 

Who are the rivals.^ Wio will throw the 
dice of death to win even a princess bride? 
None knew; the multitude wondered if any 
would appear to ride with Pauguk the whirlpool 
anger of Unktahee. 

A colossal pine tree, uprooted by the storms, 
had been caught by those arranging the details, 
and anchored above the whirlpool. The great 
chief, the proud father, drew an arrow to the 
head and shot it high in the air, so that when 
it fell it dropped into the vortex of the mael- 



Strom. This was the signal to loose the an- 
chored pine to the flood. Then the chief pro- 
claimed in trumpet tones; 

"The rival braves will take their canoes to 
the fore! Watch the tree guide, and ye can 
gauge the fury of the whirlpool, know how far 
to go! When the tree plunges down in the 
mouth of the whirlpool, ride your canoes so 
far as ye dare ! We pray Gitche Manitou for 
you ! " The throng is silent, motionless, spell- 
bound. Are there no rivals now? Is the love 
of the warrior wooers false when danger-tried? 
The royal blood tinges her cheeks at the 
thought, as Nyahtawanta rises in the momen- 
tary pause. The vision of loveliness is an in- 
spiration. Behold! there appears a young 
chief of the Mohawks! Kingly moulded, mus- 
cles of steel, with the hardy endurance of his 
famous tribe ; many scalps has he taken, and his 
feats of strength are known near and far. He 
is confident of victory. 

Another? Yea, the pride of the Chippenas. 
He it was that fearlessly entered the bear's 
den and grappled the she bear defending her 
young, slew her with knife alone, and strangled 



her cubs with his mighty hands. He calls 
Nyahtawanta his, as he calmy awaits the plunge 
of the signal pine. 

There are no more, for who will be bold 
enough to hope, confronted by rivals like these. 
Yea, behold! Standing in his canoe is an Iro- 
quois, the wooer from Nyahtawanta's tribe. 
A copper statute he seems, perfect in sym- 
metry. He it was that saved a family of Pale- 
faces, his enemies, caught in th^ whirlpool. 
He carries the strongest bow and throws the 
heaviest tomahawk of his tribe. He is not of 
royal blood, but his brave deeds have made him 
leader of the braves. Last night the Pukwud- 
jies gave him a talisman: the white feather of 
the seagull he wears in his hair. 

Lo! the giant arms of the whirlpool lift the 
huge pine, shake and rend and hurl it headlong ! 
With crash of branches and roar of waters it 
goes down in the mouth of the maelstrom. 

A long, strong pull of his paddle, and the 
Mohawk shoots his canoe into the circling flood. 

The sinewy form of the Chippewa bends with 
his blade, and he closely follows. 

With a last love look at Nyahtawanta, The 



White Plume sweeps his canoe beside his rivals. 
The flood demon whirls them poised in ex- 
tended hands. With an envious challenge 
glance, the warlike ]\Iohawk pulls his canoe to 
where the foam on the waters beckons to des- 
truction, but the canoes of his rivals are there 
with him. Then a pause in rivalry while the 
three swing in great circles, revolving to the 
vortex of death. The haughty spirit of the 
IMohawk is curbed by overawing danger. He 
is content to lead, and wait for the others to 
retire. Not so The White Plume ; with a 
stroke of his canoe darts to the fore. A shout 
of approval rises from the throng, and Ny- 
ahtawanta waves the wand of her canoe. Sing- 
ing their war songs, the Mohawk and Chippewa 
bow with their blades to pass The White Plume. 
Swung by the waters, swept by their blades, 
around in narrowing circles of doom they fly. 
The flood boils and foams ! The canoes dodge 
the plunging driftwood. The white froth of 
the whirlpool's rage flies over them ! The war 
song of the Mohawk, of Chippewa, is hushed. 
The twain throw all reserve power into the mad 
race; but the snowy plume of the seagull leads, 



and they cannot pass. The water demon 
laughs, shakes his yellow locks, and lures them 
on ! The canoes quiver with the clutch of the 
monster's fingers ! From the shore comes the 
cry of the ^lohawks and Chippewas : 

" Coriie back, ye braves ! Fair maidnes wait 
in the wigwams of your people ! Who will be 
chief of the ^lohawks ! Who will be chief of 
the Chippewas 1 The young braves call you to 
lead them ! The fathers call you to succeed 
them ! The mothers call you to defend them ! 
Gitche Manitou calls — obey! Return! Re- 
turn ! " 

Once more rose the war songs from the rivals 
^Mohawk and Chippewa. 

" Oh hah yo ! Oh hah yo ! 
Ah yah ! Ah yah ! 
Nyahtawanta ! " 

But the snowy feather the fairies gave waves 
at the fore, the arm is unweary, the heart of 
WHiite Plume is strong. He sings no war song, 
answer- ; t the scowls of the Mohawk, heeds not 
the Ch r'pewa's taunting rivalry. He faces 
death v,i;a the majesty of the true hero; con- 
querii).i: i", looking to GItchie ]Manitcu. Calmly 



his eye measures the dizzy circles, then he turns 
with princely grace, waves a love farewell to her 
for whom he lays life on the altar of sacrifice, 
and tenderly calls : " Nyahtawanta, nenee- 
moosha ! " 

He prays to the god of waters, and to the 
Indian's God ; " Unktahee, sho-wain-ne-me-sin ! 
Gitche Manitou, Sho-wain-ne-me-sin ! " 

War songs, calls to return, are heard no 
more. Fascinated by tl ^ horrors of the spell, 
all wait for the plunge o; death. The rivals 
race no longer. They coui;t the circles, know 
the end is near. They see drift timbers swal- 
lowed, hear the swirl of the engulfing abysm. 
None will yield. Like true Indian oraves, they 
will die with fortitdue. 

Behold ! the white wand of Nyahtawanta's 
canoe waves them to return ! They must obey ! 
They pull, and pull, but do they return.'^ The 
flood demon holds them fast, shakes them, tosses 
them, chuckles in fiendish glee. Nerved by im- 
pelling doom they dip their blades with the 
strength of despair. The muscles swell, the 
paddles bend — they are no nearer the vortex, 
but do they return? See! the magic blade of 



the innermost canoe flashes like light, and The 
White Plume is slowly moving out! Him that 
saved the Palefaces from the whirlpool, Gitche 
Manitou will preserve. Great beads of sweat 
drop from the faces of the Mohawk and Chip- 
pewa, as they battle inch by inch for life. They 
gain, but can they long endure? Minutes are 
hours ! The White Plume is gaining the wider 
circles ! Will his wizard arm continue those 
master strokes ? If so, he will return. He will 
triumph. Nyahtawanta will be his own. The 
thought lends a power stronger than the mo- 
ment of despair, and he lifts his canoe from the 
foam, as he plies his magic blade. A cry of 
horror rolls ! In the moment of sfety, in the 
strength of exultation, a stroke of his paddle 
strikes a submerged drift log, snaps short the 
blade — The White Plume is helpless n the 
whirlpool ! 

Out from the shore flies Nyahtawanta's 
white canoe! Like a bird it skims the waters, 
even in woman's hand queen of the flood. Whom 
will she save, Mohawk, Chippewa, or The White 
Plume? Who is the choice of lier heart? 
Straight, swift as an arrow, she is beside The 



White Plume ! He leaps into her canoe, siezes 
the magic wand, sweeps the flood and wings 
them on. To the shore? Nay, he that saved 
his Paleface enemies, will not forsake his In- 
dian brothers. Lightning strokes, an outward 
curve of the wliite canoe, a long lariat, gift of 
the rescued Palefaces, twirls from the skillful 
hands of Nvahtawanta, falls across the fated 
canoes, is caught by the ^lohawk and the Chip- 
pewa as the white canoe sails away uncoiling 
the line of life! Other canoes shoot out, other 
lariats uncoil, and with a long pull and a strong 
pull; with shouts of joy and songs of deliver- 
ance, all return, led by The White Plume and 
his peerless bride. 

In gratitude, the ■Mohawk and Chippewa 
dowered the bride till none equalled her in all 
the Iroquois. 

In obedience to the wish of her father, and 
the voice of her people. The White Plume was 
made chief of the tribe. Then, with a great 
feast of all the tribes, the promise of the fairies 
that gave the white plume of the seagull was 
fulfilled. 

From that day the great whirlpool subsided, 



fP^ '3" 




rapidly filled, and is now no more. The plain- 
tive calls of the whippoorwills on Wawonaissa 
Island, are the cries of the water demons mourn- 
ing over their defeat, and departed glory. 



The Grave of a Star 

Far back in days unumbered, 
The morning Stars were young, 

Around their home in heaven 
Like children played and sung. 

The moon was their sweet mother, 
As all good mothers are, 

And in her silver cradle, 
She rocked each babv star. 

There all the stellar children 

Had nothing else to do, 
But play, and play forever, 

In meadow-lands of blue. 

Good childen, bright and happy. 

Until one little star 
Beheld the golden sunbeams 

Fall from the sun, afar. 

It dropped the silver playthings, 

Began to cry and scold, 
For Mother Moon to give it 

The shining rays of gold. 



In vain she tried to please it, 

With countless silver to^^s: 
It only grew more naughty, 

Just like some little boys. 
One Evening as these children 

Put star rays in the dev^% 
This Naughty saw the sunbeams 

That lay in plainest view 
Upon the hills of Afton; 

It vowed to have them, too. 
While Mother Moon was rocking 

A baby star to sleep, 
Sly Naughty dropped its playthings,. 

And, with a sudden leap, 
It sprang to catch the sunbeams — 

Dov^n, down the dizzy height 
It fell, all-radiant, beaming, 

Athrill with strange delight. 

The golden rays all vanished! 

Bewildered, frightened, lost, 
The falling star descended. 

Just like a fair soul tossed, 
Down, down the deep of darkness — 

All heaven could not save; 






It plunged to Earth, self-buried 
In that deep, open grave. 

The tears of heaven's children 
Shed for the lost one's sake, 

In that grave falling nightly. 
There formed a crystal lake. 

And near the Susquehanna, 

Among the Afton hills, 
It may be seen in passing, 

Unfed by creeks, or rills. 

The depth cannot be fathomed; 

'Tis pure, and bright, and clear, 
Bom not of earth, but heaven, 

Just like an angel's tear. 

Around the mirrored margin, 
To warn 'gainst golden dreams, 

Bloom rare, gold water lilies. 
Poor Naughty's golden beams. 

And oft, upon the bosom. 
Unmoved by wind or wave, 

The moon lies like a mother 
Upon a lost child's grave. 



3477-250 
lot 29 



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